Night Wanderers
by SnarkyMuch2
Summary: Set in the first season. Dean and Sam are on a case. Sam is still recovering from Jess's death and is having nightmares. It begins to affect both of them and nearly costs one of them their life.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing and no copyright infringement is intended.

AN: I'm really not sure this is any good, but hell, I tried. This is a fairly new fandom for me, so it's a bit nerve wracking.

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**Chapter One**

Dean sits on the bed in the rundown motel and watches Sam sleep. He's peaceful now, not like earlier when he was thrashing in the bed whispering Jess's name. Dean should probably still be asleep. God knows he's tired after staying up all night with Sam, but he just needs to reassure himself that Sam is okay.

Sam rolls over and pulls the blanket up to his chin. His nose twitches and he looks for a moment like he might wake, but he doesn't. He lets out a sigh and drifts back to sleep.

Dean smirks, and standing, he walks over to the small table and grabs the paper, taking a seat. It's still early and the sun is just breaking the horizon. The first few rays of light are stretching through the window and casting a warm glow through the room.

Dean sets the paper down and scrubs his hands over his face, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, resting his elbows on the table.

There is a snuffling noise and Dean looks over to the bed where Sam is sleeping. He watches him stir for a moment and then stretches out like a cat.

"Morning, sunshine," Dean says.

Sam groans and throws an arm over his eyes. "Too early," he mumbles.

Dean smirks, looking at his watch. "Shut up, it's almost 6 o'clock."

Sam rolls over and pulls the pillow with him, pressing it over his head. "I hate you."

Dean chuckles. "Love you too, asshole."

Sighing, Dean stands and grabs his jacket from the back of the chair, heading for the door. "I'm going out. I need coffee."

Sam waves a hand in the air and grumbles something. Dean has no idea what it is, but he's fairly certain it wasn't enjoy yourself.

He makes his way to the Impala and unlocks the door. Getting in, he takes a moment to stroke the steering wheel and greet his baby before starting her up.

He backs out and drives down the main road toward the small diner they had seen on the way into town. Finding a spot, he pulls in. He looks around the lot; there are a lot of pickup trucks and beat up cars. It's a low income area for sure.

The diner is small but quaint and homey. It makes him feel comfortable. He takes a seat at the counter and a small, blonde waitress walks over from behind the kitchen partition. She smiles at him, but it doesn't seem to reach her eyes.

"Hey there, hon'," she says, pulling out a pad and pen from her apron. "What can I get for ya?"

Dean looks her over and grabs the menu. "How about a piece of your best pie and a cup of coffee, darlin'?" He winks.

She scratches something down and nods. "Be right out."

She walks back to the kitchen and he looks around. The little diner is filled with scruffy men, mostly wearing baseball caps and flannel; they all seem to be very redneck, not that it bothers Dean at all. He would rather be around down to earth people any day than some uptight banker.

The waitress reappears with the plate and slides it in front of him. "Here you are, one slice of blueberry pie." She reaches back and grabs a cup, filling it just near the edge with coffee.

"Anything else?" she asks.

"No, thank you."

She nods and walks around the counter to go tend to another customer. Dean can't help but listen in while she chats with one of the locals at the table behind him.

"How you doing, sweetheart?"

He hears her sigh. "I'm hanging in there."

"If you don't mind me asking, how's Jimmy handling it all?"

"Honestly? He's a mess, Earl. I mean, who wouldn't be? But he's just a kid."

"If there's anything I can do, let me know, all right?"

"Thank, I'll keep it in mind."

Dean hears the clicking of her heels as she walks back around the counter. "How's the pie?" She smiles.

Dean tilts his head to the side. "It's great," he pauses, "but can I ask you something?"

Her brow pinches together and she frowns a little. "Sure I guess."

"Who's Jimmy?"

Her face hardens and she looks away. "He's my nephew."

"Is he all right? I heard you talking," Dean says.

"I take it you haven't seen the news?" she saying, grabbing a cloth and folding it in her hands. "Jimmy found his father, my brother, Collin." She looks at her hands. "He was dead. They say an animal did it, but I don't know what kind of animal could have done that to him."

"Done what exactly?"

Her eyes begin to tear and she looks away. "It was like something … like something had peeled his skin off."

Dean's eyes go wide and he swallows. "Shit," he curses under his breath. "That's—"

"Awful?" she says. "Yeah, and the police aren't interested." The door chimes and she looks up, wiping her eyes. "Excuse me, but I need to get back to work."

Dean downs the last dregs of coffee and reaches for his wallet, taking out a ten and setting his cup on top of it.

When he arrives back at the motel, Sam is awake, sitting at the table, his hair poking out in all directions.

"I see you've decided to finally join the living," Dean says, shrugging off his jacket and laying it over the chair. "Did you sleep well?" he asks even though he already knows the answer.

Sam shrugs. "Did you get your coffee?"

Dean frowns a little. "So are we just going to pretend that you didn't spend the night tossing and turning?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Sam flicks up the paper.

"Sammy …"

Sam looks up at Dean, wrinkling his brow. "I'm all right."

"Why don't I believe you, then?"

Sam looks back down at the paper. "Did you read the paper? There's been an animal attack, killed a man in his house."

"I talked to a waitress in town, the guy's sister. Apparently, he was peeled to death."

Sam's lip turned up. "Peeled?" he says slowly.

"Yeah, that's what she said. Nasty, huh? With any luck he was dead before they got to that part."

Sam nods his head to the side. "Yeah, that's pretty gross."

"I think we should get dressed and head down to the hospital, check things out."

Dressed in their suits, with IDs ready, they knock on the door to the medical examiner's office. The placard on the door reads: Doctor Fredrick Gleeson, MD. An older, heavy set man with grey hair and a beard opens the door. He looks tired. His eyes have dark bags hanging beneath them and he smells like a mix of tobacco and whiskey.

He sighs when he sees the suits, looking them up and down. "Let me guess, FBI?"

Dean smiles. "Agent Simmons and this is Agent Frehley." They flash their badges. "We're here to talk to you about Collin Hatch's death."

The man steps aside and lets them in. The room is only lit by a dusty lamp which sits atop a cluttered desk. The man hobbles back behind his desk and sits down with a sigh. The doctor wheezes and coughs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He shakes his head and sputters one last time and then stops altogether. Dean wonders for a second if the man had just drawn his last breath.

Dean looks at Sam, who shrugs.

The doctor coughs and then sits up with a start, looking around wildly. "Where were we?"

Sam leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "Um, are you all right?"

"Yes, why?" the doctor says.

Dean smiles. "So, the file on Collin Hatch?"

The doctor finds the file amidst the mess without a problem. "Here you are. Can't say I'll forget that case. Not sure why you're interested, though."

Dean takes the proffered file and flips it open. The first thing he sees is the photo of what was left of Mr. Hatch. His whole upper body was stripped of its skin, and in some areas, muscle as well. The only thing that remained intact was his face and part of his leg. It was a macabre sight.

Sam leans over and looks at the file. He points at the photo. "I know this might seem obvious, but what was ruled the cause of death?"

"Funny you ask that. I found something in the blood work, take a look at the second page." He points to Dean.

Dean lifts the page and scans over the document. He's not sure what he supposed to be looking for, though. He glances up at the doctor.

"There was some type of poison in his blood. The only thing I can find that remotely matches it is Gila monster venom."

"Excuse me?" Sam chokes.

The doctor smiles and shakes his head. "A Gila Monster is a type of lizard. Gives a nasty bite. The only reason I recognized it is because of the research this hospital's been doing on the venom. It's got a lot of potential for medical purposes."

Dean purses his lips and tilts his head. "So you think this guy was bit by one?"

"Well, no. The Gila Monster isn't found anywhere near here, and I doubt Mr. Hatch had one for a pet. Besides, that wouldn't explain the rest. It's not like a lizard did that to him."

Sam furrows his brow. "Then how did the venom get into Collin?"

The doctor folds his hands on the desk, looking at both of them. "That's a good question. I wish I had the answer."

"Do you think we could see the body?" Dean asks, flipping the file closed.

The doctor frowns. "Afraid not. It was cremated this morning."

"Well, thank you for your time, Doctor Gleeson." Sam and Dean both stand, each reaching out and shaking the man's hand. "If we have any more questions, we'll be sure to contact you. Here's our card. Call us if anything else comes up."

"Will do." The doctor sees them out and they walk back to the car.

They head back to the motel. Dean's stomach rumbles as he pulls into the space outside their room.

Sam is quick to get out and he head straight into the room. Dean grabs his phone and calls information to get the number to a local pizzeria.

Getting the number, he calls and orders a veggie special. His lip curls at the idea of all veggie toppings but he knows Sam will like it, so he can take one for the team.

Dean walks into the room and slumps down into one of the chairs. "I've ordered a pizza," Dean says. "It should be here soon."

Sam looks up from his laptop. He's stretched out on the bed, back against the headboard. "Huh?" he says.

"Food, I ordered some."

"Oh," Sam blinks. "I'm not really hungry."

"You need to eat something. You haven't since yesterday."

"Yeah, haven't had much of an appetite."

"Do you want to, you know, talk about it?" Dean winces a bit. Talking really isn't his thing, but Sam seems to need something and maybe a chat is it.

Sam shrugs. "About what?"

"Whatever's been eating you lately," Dean says, crossing his arms.

Sam looks away, his brow wrinkling. "I don't want to talk about it."

Dean rubs a hand through his hair. "You're going to have to sooner or later."

There's a knock at the door and Dean gets up to answer it. The pizza has arrived. Dean takes a slice out and slips it onto a paper plate, holding it out in front of Sam.

"Eat," Dean commands.

Sam looks up at the offending slice with contempt. "I'm not hungry."

"Eat."

"No, I told you I'm—"

Dean pushes the laptop closed and sets the plate down on it. "Eat."

Sam rolls his eyes but picks up the slice. "Better?" he says, taking a bite and chewing it a bit obnoxiously.

"Yep."

Dean goes to his duffel and digs around for a second. He's looking for the prescription bottles that he knows are in there somewhere. He'd gone to the clinic in the last town and faked his way into a prescription for sleeping pills and anti-anxiety meds.

He finds them with a triumphant huff.

Sam looks over at him, obviously puzzled. "What are you doing?"

Dean stands and tosses the two bottles at Sam. "The directions are on the bottle."

"And?"

"And I want you to take them. You haven't slept worth shit lately, and you're twitchy as hell."

Sam tosses the bottles back at him. "I'm fine."

Dean narrows his eyes at him. "Fine, but don't expect me to give a damn later tonight then when you're crying in your sleep."

xXx

Dean wakes up with a start, grabbing his knife from under his pillow and looking around the room. He quickly finds the source of the noise that woke him. Sam is in the throes of another nightmare, tossing in the bed, twisting in the sheets. Dean reaches over and turns on the bedside light. He can see a sheen of sweat on Sam's brow.

Sighing, Dean swings his feet around and off the bed. He rubs his eyes and stretches quickly.

Sam whimpers, and Dean's heart aches for his brother. Regardless of how thick-headed he can be at times, Dean loves him and doesn't want to ever watch him suffer.

He stands and walks over to the other bed, sitting gently on the edge of the bed. Careful of his movements, he reaches out and gives Sam's shoulder a little shake.

"Sam," he says softly. "Sammy, wake up."

Sam murmurs something and Dean leans in to listen.

"Jess … please … NO!"

Dean sighs. It's pretty clear what the dreams about and Dean gives Sam's shoulder another nudge, this time harder.

Sam eyes snap open and he makes to swing on Dean, but stops when he sees him. "What the fuck, man?"

"You were having another nightmare."

Sam swallows and looks away. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up."

Dean stands and goes over to the table to grab the pills. "Humor me and take something. We both need sleep, and if you're tossing and turning then neither of us are getting any."

"Fine," Sam says, and Dean tosses the pills to him.

Sam takes one of the little blue tablets out of the bottle and swallows it down dry. He sets the bottle of pills down on the nightstand and lays back down.

It's late morning before either of them stir. Dean's up first and he goes over to the table and fiddles with the cheap coffee maker that came with the room. He takes a packet of coffee from the basket and retrieves some water to start the pot. He hates motel coffee but he doesn't want to drive into town to get a cup either.

He sits down at the table and pulls out Dad's journal, flipping through the pages. He can't find anything about skin peeling demons or skin peeling creatures so he tosses the journal down and watches the pot. It trickles slowly and he leans his elbows on the table.

Frustrated, he reaches for his phone and puts a call in to Bobby. If anything, maybe he had heard of something like this before. He gives him the details that they know and then pauses, debating on telling him about Sam's nightmares but he stops himself. He knows Sam wouldn't want him spreading it around that he couldn't sleep at night.

Bobby agrees to hunt down what he can and get back to him as soon as possible.

The bed creaks and Dean glances over. A very sleepy looking Sam stretches and then sits up. He yawns wide, rocking his head side to side, cracking his neck.

"I called Bobby," Dean says. "Filled him in. He's gonna to do some research and get back to me."

"Good," Sam says. "The Wi-Fi around here is crap. I can barely open Google without it locking up."

"So I was thinking that we should head over and speak with Collin's family today. See if he was into anything hinky."

Sam looks at him, brow raised and a slight smirk on his face. "Hinky? Really?"

"Bite me, bitch."

The coffee maker beeps and Dean grabs two styrofoam cups, pouring them each a cup.

"Coffee's done," Dean says, holding out a cup for Sam.

Sam stands and takes the cup. He sips at it, making a face. "This is awful."

Dean shrugs, grabbing a sugar packet from the basket and tossing it to Sam. "Add that, it'll help."

After they drink their coffees, they both get changed and shrug on their coats, off to see the little boy and his aunt.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I still own nothing and no copyright infringement is intended.

AN: Thanks for reading! Reviews really do inspire me to write and I appreciate all of them.

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Sam rolls his head from side to side, trying to shake the feeling of exhaustion that's gripping him tightly. Every one of his muscles feels stiff and sore. Dean's pills did nothing but leave him feeling tired and hungover. It's making it hard to concentrate, and he's pretty sure Dean has noticed. His brother keeps glancing over at him, giving him concerned looks.

Sam rubs his neck and turns to lean his head against the window. The cool glass feels good against his skin. It seems to calm the tension in his brow just a little and he closes his eyes, blocking out the rest of the ride.

The car comes to a stop and Sam opens his eyes, looking around. They're on a small side street that is lined with large old trees that hang just slightly over the road. The house beside them is small and white. It's in need of paint, and the shutters decorating the windows are hanging crookedly. There is a little blue bike in the overgrown grass, lying on its side. Sam reasons that it's likely the little boy's they're about to meet.

They get out and walk up to the door.

Dean reaches out and touches Sam's arm. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Sam says, nodding, his brows pinching together slightly. "I'm fine."

Dean studies him for a moment. "Okay, just checking, I mean, you just look... Nevermind."

Sam is grateful the conversation is dropped. He doesn't want to talk about it, about Jess's death, about the nightmares, about the guilt he feels. He would rather pretend it all doesn't exist than explore his inner demons.

Sam rings the doorbell, and then, a moment later, the door swings open.

The woman who answers the door looks at Dean in shock, her eyes moving up and down over the lines of the suit he is wearing. "You're the guy from the diner," she says, "the one that asked about Jimmy."

"Yes, ma'am. After hearing what you said, I called my superiors and got approval to come down here and do a bit of investigating."

She squints, looking suspicious. "Your superiors?"

"FBI. I'm Agent Simmons and this is Agent Frehley," Dean says as they pull out their IDs.

"Sarah," she says. "Sarah Hatch."

Sam smiles. "Nice to meet you, Sarah. May we come in?"

The inside of the house, much like the out, is a bit worn, but it has a homey feel. There are pictures of people, presumably family, hanging on the walls and there is a colorful knitted throw draped over the tattered couch.

They follow her to the living room where she motions for them to take a seat.

Dean leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "So can you tell us what happened?"

"It was last Monday. I was watching Jimmy while Collin worked late. When he got home, I helped him settle Jimmy down and then left. Everything seemed fine."

Sam leans forward. "Do you remember hearing any strange noises, like scratching or knocking?"

Her brow furrows and she shakes her head. "No, nothing."

"What about smells? Anything seem different?" Sam asks.

She looks at him, confusion coloring her features. "No, why do you ask?"

"No reason," Dean says, waving off the questing like it wasn't odd at all. "Would it be all right if we had a chat with Jimmy, heard what happened from him?"

She licks her lips, pressing them in a tight line. "I don't know …"

"Please, we'll make it quick," Sam says, giving her the softest expression he can manage.

It seems to work as she smiles weakly and nods. "All right."

The both walk upstairs and then down the narrow hall, stopping outside the bedroom door.

Sam raps his knuckles against the door softly.

They wait but don't hear anything, so Sam tries the door knob. It's not locked so he gently gives the door a nudge and lets it swing open.

The first thing he sees is a little boy with mousey brown hair than hangs just past his ears. There are crayons and papers scattered out in front of him. His shoulders are drawn in and he looks frightened. If Sam had to guess, he would say the boy only seven or eight at the most.

Sam takes a breath and rubs a hand across his mouth. He hates this part of the job, not just for what the victim has gone through but for how it affects Dean. He doesn't need to look over at his brother to know there is pain in his eyes. Dean has always had a soft spot for children who had watched a parent die.

Dean clears his throat. "Hey there, buddy," Dean says, stepping closer.

The little boy looks up from his drawing and glances over his shoulder at Dean before looking back down silently.

Dean walks over to the desk and squats down beside him. "My name's Dean, and that big guy over there is Sam." He motions. "Now what's your name?"

The boy stops coloring and looks over at Dean, studying him for a moment. "Jimmy," he says quietly.

Dean smiles. "Nice to meet you, Jimmy."

"Can I talk to you for a minute, about your dad?"

The little boy shrugs and looks down at the crayons, pushing them around on the table.

"I know it's hard, but can you tell me if you saw anything that night when you found him?"

Sam suddenly feels a bit dizzy and pushes a hand against the wall to keep his balance. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. He only needs to hold it together a bit longer and then he can go out and get some fresh air.

Feeling steadier, he looks back at Dean and the boy, who are having a whispered conversation. The boy pushes a piece of paper toward Dean and he accepts it, looking it over carefully.

Dean rubs a hand over the little boy's back and leans in to say something too quiet for Sam to hear. Whatever it is, it makes the boy nod and pick up his crayon again.

Dean's eyes are a bit watery but Sam doesn't say anything; instead, he follows after him out the door and down the stairs. Sam feels like he is operating on autopilot. Dean's right. He really needs to get some rest. His head begins to hurt again as the head out to the car.

Dean looks over at him, eyes tight. "You need some sleep."

Sam thinks to argue but he can't find the words, so instead he just shakes his head and gets in the car.

Dean passes Sam the drawing, and he unfolds it, looking at the picture. It is of something human like, with greyish skin and long nails that almost look like talons.

"What do you think it is?" Sam asks.

Dean shrugs, shaking his head. "I don't know, man, but whatever that thing is, it's got a nasty appetite. That's how the kid found it, hunched over, eating."

"Poor kid," Sam says.

"Yeah, but he's tough. I think he'll be all right."

Dean turns out onto the main road.

"Where are we going?"

"I was thinking we should head over to Collin's house, check things out before we head back for the night," Dean says.

Sam nods, feeling his head throb in protest. "Sure, sounds good."

The drive across town, the area is heavily wooded and there are few houses. It doesn't go unnoticed by either of them that there is a cemetery not a stone's throw from where Collin's house is. Dean pulls the car to a stop in front of the main gate.

"You thinking it's connected?" Sam asks.

"Won't hurt to take a look around."

They get out and walk over to the entrance; it's made up of two stone pillars and an iron archway that reads: St. Mary's Cemetery. The grass has been neatly trimmed around the ancient looking gravestones and old willow trees hang heavy, casting shadows across the grass in the breeze.

Sam reaches up and tugs on his tie, loosening it. "So where to first?"

Dean shrugs. "Not a clue."

They walk follow the path through the graveyard, looking for anything out of place. Sam falls back behind Dean, his limbs feeling heavy and tired.

"You okay back there?" Dean says, looking over his shoulder.

Sam tries to shake off the tiredness and pick up the pace. "I'm good."

"Good, because there's something up ahead." Dean's posture changes, like he's ready to fight.

Sam looks around. He sees it now. Up ahead there is a freshly disturbed grave. As he gets closer he can see it's more than that. Something has torn the body from the ground and strewn chunks of it across the grass. From the dampness of the soil he can tell that it happened recently, within the day. He wonders how no one stumbled across it sooner.

Sam swallows, his stomach nearly lurching from the putrid smell of decaying flesh. He kneels down in the dirt and examines the grave. There are long scratches were something has dug up the earth.

"Looks like our guy's got a taste for rotten meat," Dean says, nudging a piece of flesh with his foot.

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Sam stands and walks to where Dean is standing. They both look down at a half-eaten chunk of what he's pretty sure is a thigh.

Dean shakes his head. "I get something eating a fresh body, but a rotten one? That shit's just wrong."

Sam hears something out towards the woodline and he turns. "Did you hear that?"

"What?"

Sam listens for a second but hears nothing. He shakes his head. "I thought I heard something."

Dean cocks his head to the side. "Do you hear it now?" Dean asks, looking at him with a brow raised.

Sam flips him off. "I'm going to check down toward the treeline. Why don't you look up toward the willow? There's gotta be something around here to tell us which way it went."

Dean looks at him. "Someone's feeling bossy today."

"Look, I'm tired, my head hurts, and I want just want to get this done."

"Maybe I shouldn't leave you alone," Dean says, looking at him with a concerned expression.

Sam sighs. "I'll be fine."

Dean hesitates for a moment but relents, giving him a nod. "Just be careful."

"Always."

They split up, going in opposite directions. Sam makes his way down a path and follows it. It winds down toward the line of pine trees. Seeing something on the ground up ahead he speeds up. When he reaches it, he finds another piece of the corpse. Even though it's only one piece, it still smells rancid and makes his stomach churn.

He begins to walk down toward the trees when he hears another sound in the distance. Something is crashing in the woods. He looks over his shoulder for Dean but can't see him.

Part of him knows he shouldn't go after it alone, part of him is shouting at him to turn back and get Dean, but another part is pushing him forward.

He hesitates, but then makes his decision. With one last glance behind him, he steps out into the woods.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Hey, Bobby," Dean says, answering the phone as he checks for disturbed graves. "Did you have any luck tracking down some info on our bad guys here?"

"Yeah, I did. It looks like you guys have really stepped in it this time. From what I can tell, you're dealing with a pair of Night Wanderers. They're a lot like the Rakshasa; they're a kind of shape-shifter, except that these guys have poisonous nails and a taste for meat of the human variety, fresh or rotten. But their favorite part is the skin; they like to peel their victims to death. It's kind of a trademark."

"Great, they sound like a barrel full of laughs. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find them, would you?"

"Well, the books say they frequent cemeteries. They've gotta thing for desecrating graves, and if the dinner selection is limited, they'll settle for a corpse."

"All right, so what do we need to take 'em down?" Dean asks.

"Well, like I said, they got a lot in common with the Rakshasa, and just like them, solid brass will do'em in."

"Sounds good. We'll give you a call when this is all tidied up."

"Be careful, Dean." Bobby says. "And watch out for those nails. They can control the amount of toxin they release. They can either stun you or kill you, but there's no way to know what they're gonna do, so don't take any chances."

"Got it, don't touch the manicured nails. Thanks, Bobby."

Hanging up the phone he looks around. He doesn't see anything out of the ordinary, and he has no idea where to start looking. He decides the best option is hightail it back to where he last saw Sam and go from there. If these things do travel in pairs, they wouldn't want to be alone when coming across one.

Taking quick strides, he makes his way to the where he had last seen Sam. He looks around but doesn't see any sign of him He walks down the sloping hill and heads toward the treeline. The ground is muddy there and Dean looks around trying to find any sign of his brother. Crouching down, he catches sight of a Sasquatch sized bootprint in the mud. He would know those oversized clodhoppers anywhere.

"Sam," Dean calls. He waits for an answer, for any sound, but none comes. "Sammy! Answer me goddammit!"

Dean can feel the adrenaline begin to push through his veins. With every second that passes, more worry creeps into him. He jogs back to the car and retrieves the only brass knife they have and heads back out to the woods, looking for Sam.

xXx

Sam can feel that something isn't right, and he holds his gun just a little tighter as he walks. The lack of sleep is getting to him, and he blinks tiredly. He knows he should talk to Dean about it, but he can't bring himself to do it. He doesn't want Dean to know how fucked up he is, how bad the nightmares are getting.

As he walks, he feels something changing in the air. It's like electricity, like the feeling you get before a thunderstorm. It makes the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. There is a crack in the distance and he spins on his heels toward the sound. Squinting, he is able to see a dark figure moving toward him. As it gets closer, he can see that it's not human. It's got long nail-like claws and its skin is pale and almost grey.

He immediately regrets having gone off alone without telling Dean. It was a stupid mistake and it looked like it was going to cause him some serious pain as a result.

His heart begins to thump hard in his chest and he takes a breath to steady himself. He steps to the side, looking for a clear shot, but the creature is weaving through the trees, making it near impossible to get a shot. Finally, though, he gets a bead on him. But just as he prepares to pull the trigger, a sharp pain flares across his back. He arcs away from it and stumbles to the ground, his palms slamming against the forest floor. He tries to push himself to stand, but a twinge of pain shoots up his arm from his wrist. He feels something warm and wet on his back; he reaches back and touches the side of his shirt. Blood is covering his fingers.

Using his good arm, he pushes himself to his side. When he looks up he sees two of the creatures, one of them is already bending down as if to grab Sam's ankles.

Sam kicks at it, dragging himself away as he does. But the other creature just reaches down and digs its nails into Sam's arm. Blood seeps from puncture wounds its nails made and Sam begins to feel woozy.

Sam looks up at it and then back down to the other. His head is beginning to feel heavy, and it's hard to hold his head up, but he doesn't miss the near smile of the creature as he succumbs to the darkness. It's all teeth and thin lips and Sam wishes more than anything that he hadn't wandered off alone; death by whatever these were seemed like it was going to be painful.

Darkness is creeping in around the edges of his vision, and he knows he's going out. He struggles to hang on but can't. He tries one last time to push himself up, but he falls back with a thud. Everything spins and twirls and then it all goes black.

Sam awakes sometime later; it's dark and the air is damp. If he had to guess, he would say he was in a cave, or possibly a sewer. Wherever it was it smells dank. His hands are bound above his head, and his bad wrist is screaming in pain. He struggles to look to up and see what's holding him. The ropes binding his hands have been looped over a metal hook, effectively hanging him from the ceiling. Struggling to keep his eyes open, he looks around, cringing as he does. There are chunks of flesh lying on the ground, maggots inching along the surface of the decomposing meat.

Wriggling in the bindings, Sam finds that they're tight, too tight to simply twist free from. Pushing himself up on his tiptoes, he is able to work the rope binding against the hook, trying to saw it apart. Just as he thinks he's making progress, there is a shuffling sound in the distance, a sound that seemed to be moving closer every second.

His heart begins to pound, and he tries again to free himself, but he can't. He looks around the room for anything he might be able to reach with his feet but he finds nothing. He's completely screwed.

He can make out the footsteps now as he they approach. He tenses and tries to prepare himself for whatever he is about to face, being skinned or eaten alive being the two most likely scenarios.

It walks into the room and Sam counts the steps as it moves closer. Just a few more feet will bring it close enough. The creature draws back its lip, showing its teeth. Sam clenches his jaw and then kicks, hard. It knocks the creature back, but it also makes him lose his footing. Sam struggles to get his feet back under him again, as hanging free from the hook causes both his wrist and his back pain.

Sam's hair falls in his eyes and he shakes his head to free his vision. He looks up just in time to see a flash of grey, feel a flare of pain, and then it all goes black again.

xXx

Dean hurries through the woods, looking for any sign of his brother. He can only imagine the trouble Sam could have found to get into. It worries him. Sam always had a habit of getting the short end of the stick in life when it came to the job. Sam always seemed to be the one getting the brunt of the injuries and the worst of the pain.

He hasn't seen any signs of Sam and is about to change direction when he sees something. The ground is scuffed and there are signs of a struggle. Dean clenches his hand around the knife and looks down the path the drag marks lead.

He only has to follow for a hundred yards or so before he find what he hopes is the place they've got Sam. From the outside, it looks like an old mining shaft.

Gripping the knife tightly, Dean steps into the darkness. He can hear the dripping of water in the distance and it only adds to the creep factor. Taking his time, and watching his back, he makes his way deeper inside.

Just as he's about to pull his lighter out to see, the tunnel begins to brighten. He looks around for the source of the light and sees that here are old lanterns on the walls. Most aren't lit, but a few are. They give off just enough light to see where he's going.

There is a cry of pain from up ahead, and Dean's heart skips a beat. He would know that voice anywhere. It was his Sammy. If they hurt a hair on his head, they weren't just going to die; he was going to skin them alive.

It is even lighter up ahead where the tunnel looks to take a sharp right. He slows down, creeping forward, preparing himself to confront whatever might be ahead.

As he rounds the corner, the tunnel opens up to a larger room. In the center of which is Sam, strung up from the ceiling. His head is hanging and there is blood seeping from a gash on his forehead.

"Sammy," Dean whispers.

There is no response. Dean licks at his lips and watches Sam closely for signs of life. His chest is rising and falling slowly and Dean breathes a sigh of relief.

"Sam," Dean tries again.

This time, there is a groan of pain.

"Are you with me, Sammy?"

Sam grunts. "Hurts."

"It's all right, just try to relax. I'm going to get you out of here.

Dean runs over to Sam's side and reaches up, trying to cut the rope. After a second of struggling, he frees Sam, who collapses with a thump on the ground.

Dean bends down and slips an arm around Sam's waist, pulling him up. Sam groan in pain, and Dean looks down to assess Sam's injuries for the first time. His brother's back has long, deep gashes running down the length of it; they're going to need stitches. Sam is holding his wrist protectively against his chest and Dean bends to try and see it better. It's not too swollen, but it still looks plenty painful.

"Okay, Sam," he says. "You're going to need to help me out here. Where else are you hurt, other than your back and wrist?"

Sam straightens, standing weakly. He shakes his head. "No, nothing else."

"Good. Let's get the hell out of here then."

Dean keeps one arm wrapped around Sam as they walk slowly toward the exit. But just before they reach the outside, Dean hears a commotion coming from the tunnel behind them. He pushes Sam against the wall so he is leaning against it. Sam slumps back and groans.

"Sam," Dean says, "I need you to just hang on for a few more minutes. Those things are back there throwing a fit that you're not there. I need to go take care of them. I won't be long."

That seems to awaken Sam a little as he looks at Dean with concern. "No, let me go with."

Dean shakes his head. "Sorry, Sammy, but I need to handle this myself."

Sam nods and Dean ruffles his hair. "Be right back, Tiger."

Dean hurries toward the sound, knife held tightly in his hand. It only takes a second to reach them. The brass seems to do the trick and the first one collapses on the floor. The second is down a few moments later. If it weren't for Sammy waiting injured, he would have spent more time making them suffer, more time making them pay. But he knew he couldn't. Sam needed him. Wiping the blood off his hands onto his jeans, he heads back to Sam.

When he returns, he finds Sam has slipped down the wall and is now sitting on the ground.

"You all right, Sammy?" Dean ask a bit too frantic.

"Tired, hurts," Sam says, looking up at him.

"Okay, let's get you out of here and back to the motel. We need to get you cleaned up." Dean slips his arms under Sam's and hoists him up to his feet. He lets his gigantic little brother lean on him as they walk back to the car.

"Can you stand for a sec?" Dean asks him when they reach the car.

Sam nods and Dean quickly grabs the door handle and opens the door to the back seat.

"Nice and slow," Dean says. "Try not to put too much pressure on your back. You're already going to need stitches."

"I hate the back," Sam whines.

"Tough. Now get in."

Sam whimpers in pain as he climbs in. Dean walks around the car to the other side and helps Sam to lay down.

Once Sam is situated, Dean hops in the front and starts the car. It's not far to the motel and thankfully they make it in record time.

Dean pulls the car into the lot of the motel and he sighs in relief. The job isn't over yet, though. Sam is still broken, in more ways than one, and Dean knows that it isn't going to be easy to fix him. Especially since Sam won't admit to being broken.

**AN**: Sorry if this chapter isn't great. I tried, but this story is really hard for me to write for some reason. I don't want to abandon this, so I will try to be a trooper and keep going. There should only be one more chapter. Please let me know what you think. Thanks, Snarks.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Dean helps Sam walk over to the bed and then helps him take a seat on the edge. Dean doesn't miss the tense lines of pain on his brother's face as he does it. He hates seeing his brother in pain. He wishes he could take it away, take it on himself rather than watch him suffer. But that's not a choice, and so he takes a breath and prepares himself to cause his brother even more pain stitching him up.

"Just take it easy," Dean says. "I'm going to get the first aid kit."

When Dean returns to Sam's side and kneels down in front of him. Sam's eyes are scrunched shut and he's panting in pain. Dean wonders for a second if maybe they should make a trip to the ER. And then, like he can read his thoughts, Sam says, "No hospital. You do it."

Dean scrubs a hand over his face and then stands. "All right. Well, first things first, we need to get you out of that shirt so I can see your back."

Sam tries to work the buttons of his shirt but his injured wrist is making it hard. Dean kneels back down and brushes Sam's hands away from buttons. Sam swats at his hands.

"I can do it," Sam says defiantly.

"And I'm sure you can, but let me. I'd rather not sit here and watch you wince your way through it."

Sam rolls his eyes, but lets his hands drop. "This is so humiliating."

Dean chuckles as he goes about undoing Sam's shirt. "This isn't exactly my idea of a good time either, bro."

Once the shirt is undone, he slips it off his shoulders, exposing his damaged back. He stands and goes to the other side of the bed, taking the first aid kit with him. Dean curses under his breath when he sees how bad it looks. The edges of the slices are red and jagged and angry. It was no wonder Sam was panting in pain.

"Okay," Dean says, running a hand through his hair. "I suppose we need to move you so you're lying down."

Dean sees Sam's shoulders tense and then he nods. "Just give a minute."

"Take as long as you need."

After a few moments, Sam begins to move. Dean watches anxiously as Sam stands and then turns to the bed, lowering himself slowly to the mattress. Dean winces as he watches the gashes give and take with every move.

Sam grabs the pillow and pulls it under his head, closing his eyes. "So much better," he says.

"Yeah well, I hate to break it to you, but I still need to clean those cuts and stitch you up, so enjoy the comfort while you can."

Sam groans but doesn't say anything else.

Dean walks over and grabs the bottle of whiskey from the table and then gets a towel from the bathroom. He sits down on the edge of the bed and opens the bottle. "Do you need something to bite down on?" Dean asks him before he starts.

Sam shakes his head. "Just do it already."

Dean holds the towel beside the first gash and pours the whiskey over it. Sam's body goes rigid with pain and he turns his face into the pillow to stifle his cries.

He repeats the process on each gash, dabbing the excess off when he's done. Moving as fast as he can, he prepares the needle and thread. With practiced hands, he begins stitching the largest of the wounds, tugging it closed. He has done this so many times in his life, but it never gets easier.

He doesn't have to see Sam's face to know that he's probably a bit teary eyed from the pain.

What he doesn't expect is for Sam to speak. "I'm sorry," he says.

"What?" Dean's brows pinch together in confusion. "Why are you apologizing?"

"I … There is something that I haven't told you."

Dean hearts skips a beat. This can't be good. In fact, he knows from experience that anytime Sam keeps something from him it tends to end badly.

Dean pushes the needle through the skin again, trying to prepare himself for whatever is about to come. "Go on," he says.

"You were right before," Sam says. "About me sleeping … or more like not."

He feels a wave of relief. This he could handle. He already knew that Sam was having nightmares, and he already had an idea what they were about. Sam was a vocal sleeper at times and more than once he had cried out Jess's name in his sleep.

"Nightmares?" Dean asks as he ties a knot in the last stitch.

"Yeah," Sam says, "They've been keeping me awake at night and when I do sleep, it's barely enough. It slowed me down today. I made some stupid mistakes because I was tired. You could've gotten hurt."

Dean's holds his hand over Sam's shoulder, like he wants to lay it there it comfort him, but he stops himself. It would only be awkward and they just didn't do that kind of thing.

"Look, Sammy, you don't need to worry about me. What happened back there wasn't your fault. And Jess, that wasn't your fault either. There was no way you could have known what was going to happen."

The muscles of Sam's back go tight. "Yeah, I guess you're right. There was no way I could have known."

"Good, now let me see that arm of yours."

Sam groans but then takes his arm out from under the pillow and flops it onto the bed beside him. Dean takes the damaged limb gingerly in his grasp and carefully feels along the bone. He pushes here and there, testing the movement. Sam seems to handle it fairly well so he knows it isn't broken, but it could probably use some ice and maybe a wrapping.

"I'll be right back, Sammy," Dean says. He grabs a plastic baggie and goes down to get some ice.

When he gets back, Sam is asleep. Dean can't figure how, given the pain, but he isn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He grabs a towel and wraps the baggie of ice. Gently, he places it on Sam's wrist.

Sam's exposure to the venom worries Dean and he grabs his phone from his coat pocket.

He quickly dials Bobby and waits while it rings for him to answer.

"So, how did it go?" Bobby asks by way of greeting.

"The brass worked like a charm, but Sammy got pretty banged up. He got a healthy dose of venom among other things."

"Well, shit. Is he all right? He's still breathing ain't he?" Bobby asks.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I think he's sleeping it off, but I didn't know if you knew anymore about it."

"Sorry, boy, but not really. I think sleep is probably the best thing. If he ain't dead yet, then he's probably gonna be fine."

"Somehow that's not that reassuring," Dean says. "Hey, I wanted to ask you something else, too. Did Sam mention anything to you about his nightmares?"

"He's having nightmares?" Bobby asks and Dean can hear the concern in his voice.

"Yeah, but I guess you don't know anything more than me."

"Sorry, I can't be much more help. Wish I was," Bobby says, "Try to keep an eye on him, and call me if something changes. I'm going to check the books, see if there's anything else on that venom."

"Thanks, Bobby."

Hanging up the phone, Dean walks over to the bed beside Sam's and takes a seat. He toes off his boots and rests his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him. He watches Sam sleep, watches his brow tighten and relax in either pain or a nightmare or maybe both.

After a moment, Sam brows pinch together and then his breathing changes and Dean knows that he's having another nightmare.

Unable to let him suffer, Dean stands and walks the few steps to Sam's bed. He sits down on the edge and after a second of hesitation, places a hand on Sam's head, brushing the hair from his eyes.

"Time to wake up, Sam," he says.

Sam murmuring turns to speaking and he shouts Jess's name. Dena sighs, and then begins to gently nudge Sam's shoulder. "Come on, wake up."

Sam starts, pushing himself up on the bed only to fall back a moment later in pain. "Son of a bitch that hurts."

"You were dreaming about Jess again."

Sam nods and looks away. "Same dream, of her on the ceiling, of the fire." Sam lowers his voice. "I can still smell it sometimes when I wake up."

Dean doesn't need Sam to explain to the smell. Burning bodies were a smell all their own, one that you were unlikely to forget and Dean can understand why it haunts him.

Dean stands and moves back to the other bed, taking a seat. Part of him wants to press the issue of the nightmares more, try to get to the bottom of them, but once he looks at Sam's face he stops himself. He looks pale and tired and the last thing he needs is his big brother interrogating him some more.

Sam pushes himself up on one elbow and quirks a brow. "Did I dream it or where you petting me earlier?"

Dean swallowed. "I wasn't petting you."

Sam smiles, shaking his head. "You're such a bitch."

"Shut up. You're the bitch."

"Whatever you say, Jerk."

**AN**:Please let me know what you think, good or bad. Thank you for reading, Snarks.


	5. Epilogue

**AN:** I wasn't going to write anymore for this, but I thought the few readers I have might like a little more. It's short and fluffy, and hopefully it gives the story, and the boys, a bit of closure.

**Epilogue**

It's not until much later, after a few hectic hunts and little more lack of sleep, that the nightmares come up again. It's late and Dean is just about to settle in when Sam sighs and walks over to the bed opposite Dean, taking a seat.

"What's up?" Dean asks causally.

"I need to tell you something, but you can't cut me off this time."

"When do I ever cut you off?"

Sam raises a brow and looks at him. "Like is right now a good enough example or do I need to give another?"

Dean huffs and crosses his arms, nodding for Sam to continue.

Sam swallows hard and averts his gaze. This is harder than he thought it would be, but he can't keep going on like he is, lying to his brother. Dean deserved better than that.

"Look, Dean. I don't know quite how to say this, so I think that I should just try to get it out all at once. Just promise me you'll let me finish."

Dean studied him for a moment, considering if he's able to restrain himself that long. Not knowing what it is that's bothering Sam so much is already eating at him, already has him wanting to ask questions. But from the look on Sam's face, it's clear that this is important to him, so Dean knows he has to try and hold himself back.

"All right, Sammy. You've got my attention," Dean says. "No interruptions."

Sam rubs a hand over the back of his neck. "When I told you about the nightmares, I left something out." Sam pauses, and his hands shake a little, and Dean wonders what about his nightmares could be so bad. It looked like he was confessing to murder. "I've had them since before Jess Died."

Dean's brow furrows, and he tilts his head to the side. "I don't understand."

Sam holds up a hand. "Don't interrupt, please. I need to say this."

Dean is getting more concerned by the second, but he tries not to let it show.

Sam takes a few moments to choose his next words. This all sounded so much easier in his head. It seemed so simple, just tell Dean the truth and maybe some of the weight would be lifted from his shoulders.

"You all right, Sam?" Dean asks, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Sam looks down at Dean's feet, not able to meet his gaze as he tells him the next part. "I dreamt about Jess's death before it happened. I saw it, Dean. All of it, and I did nothing to stop it." Sam takes a shaky breath, his eyes welling with tears. "I knew and I did nothing. I left her unprotected. I left her to die." The last part comes out as a whisper.

So much clicks into place while so much else is left with questions. Dean doesn't know what to say for once, he just sits and stares at Sam, watching him fall apart as he tries to gather himself. He wasn't expecting something like that when Sam had said he needed to talk.

Sam drops his head into hands and his shoulders begin to shake, and the big brother in Dean can't just sit back and watch his little brother suffer any longer. He gets up and crosses over to Sam's bed and sits down beside him. He wraps an arm around Sam's shoulders and pulls him tight to his side.

"It's okay," Dean says, although he knows it's anything but. "It's gonna be all right." He lies again, because it's the right thing to do, because there is nothing else to say. "I've got you."

Sam lets out another strangled sob and Dean turns a little so he can pull Sam into his chest. He wraps his arms around his little brother, pressing his cheek against Sam's hair. Dean continues to whisper quietly against Sam's hair how everything is all right and how it wasn't his fault. He tries to keep the shock of the truth, the concern of what it all means at bay, because it the grand scheme of things, Dean knows it doesn't really matter at that moment. All that matters now is that his little brother is crying, and that, eclipses everything else.


End file.
